


Project Somnacin

by kuro49



Series: thirty days of writing [18]
Category: Inception (2010), The Unit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last of what they remember is Colonel Ryan telling them that <i>anything goes</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project Somnacin

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: _the sensation of falling as experienced in a dream._
> 
> naturally, i had to write an inception!au (even though it is more like setting it in the inception universe than anything really).

“You don’t have to like it,” Colonel Ryan tells them and he is not wrong given how many missions the Alpha Team are assigned, how many they have completed without fail, and just how many of those affected the innocent, “You just have to do it, soldier.”

The room is sterile white. Jonas is faced with his men, and this is at least one thing about this training exercise out of the field that is familiar.

“Project Somnacin, you say?”

The Colonel nods, and the room is white, is white, is white, and the air is hot.

 

It is a desert landscape.

One they recognize from three years ago, exact location both undisclosed and redacted on what files remained of it. Sweat pools in their clothes, and with a scarf pulled over their mouths, there is just the sensation of grit on their skin, the suffocating heat stale in their lungs. It is hard to breathe.

The sky is clear, and they have no cover.

It might as well be real.

There is an objective here. With a surveillance camera in each corner of the room, one wall a mirror, no doubt one way, five beds, and equipment that puts them into a slumber. The last of what they remember is Colonel Ryan telling them that _anything goes_.

"They’re really going for the realism this time.” Hector says, and out of the peripherals of his eyes, the air around them is distorted, looking like they are caught in the midst of a heat wave.

“You don’t say.” Charlie kicks up the sand at his feet with a furrow to his brows, only glancing up at Mack when recollection comes to him. “I _hated_ this one.”

“Didn’t you get shot?” Bob asks, feeling that same unease and it is infectious given how his fingers itch. How there is a low throb in his arm where the needles went in.

Mack points at his shoulder, the one that he can dislocate for ten dollars bets in the bars, and he still remembers how much it hurts. “Fuckin’ nightmare really.”

In principle, they understand the objective. In practice, they have yet to start. Jonas doubts that will do them any good. They are lying on top of the covers, mattress thin beneath their backs, movement rapid under their eyelids, fingers twitching against the scratchy sheets.

The sand shifts beneath their feet.

“Tell me about it.”

He is quiet, they are too, and the dream around them is deafeningly silent.

 

There are no live rounds, there are no guns.

There are just the five of them in one dream.

He sits up as he drops, it is the kick of the sensation that has his heart beating like thunder in his chest. He doesn’t know what they are aiming to learn from this, it is not about to get any easier pulling a trigger on your own team.

Not the first time, or the hundredth time they have him going under.


End file.
